


Heterochromia

by Milo



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, M/M, Trans Character, Undercover, kata breaks a couch, that dude kata's going at is roci yes, welcome to my fungeon i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-07-18 20:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16126115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milo/pseuds/Milo
Summary: Katakuri tells himself not to get attached. He usually doesn't get attached.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An expansion of [this piece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4679174/chapters/35380491).
> 
> (I apologize profusely to anyone actually skilled in writing NSFW.)

Oh.

He was wearing lace. With a garter belt. Under all _that_?

“Something wrong?”

Katakuri blinked out of his surprise and glanced down at the now pantless man sitting on his right thigh. His (unbuttoned) white shirt was still over his shoulders, loose but still present, while the rest of his outfit was in a wrinkled pile on the floor. He crossed his-- _very_ long--legs and adjusted the matching stockings to his lingerie. The expression on his face was neutral, the tune he was humming carefree, as though he wasn’t balancing in the lap of a pirate emperor’s commander worth several hundred million beri.

Certainly, the man had been a flirt, but he hadn’t expected...all of _this_ from it.

“Thinking,” Katakuri responded, eyeing up the man’s legs as he trailed one long, gloved finger down the length of one.

Not quite a lie. There was always much to consider. Right now, he was wondering exactly how long it’d been--how long since he last fooled around with someone in a similar manner?

In truth, as far as he could predict some hours ago, he’d planned to leave this dingy town in this rather run-down shipping port. His only reason for coming was to investigate the sudden interruption in the flow of Mama’s very important deliveries of pastry flour (which, unbeknownst to most, also carried with it the delivery of quite a hefty amount of artillery).

While he hadn’t uncovered the man in charge, who’d fled upon his arrival, he’d instead encountered this interesting individual.

Katakuri recognized him from some passing wanted poster. Fleetfoot Maverick; a black market dealer himself, though Katakuri couldn’t remember specifics. Dark hair, two different colored eyes. Accent from somewhere in North Blue. Difficult to miss in the crowd with his gaudy sunflower tie and daisy-shaped, rose-tinted glasses (which were the first things Katakuri had tossed aside when they’d snuck away into this warehouse).

He was quiet. Too quiet for the average man, and even more so unfitting for the bold personality he was showing here in private.

Maverick took Katakuri’s hand with both of his and peppered a line of kisses from the tip of his ring finger to the back of his wrist, almost to the skin. Then, he simply stared up at him with those mesmerizing blue and amber eyes. The look brought with it a jolt of thrill. No hesitance. No fear. Stupid, really, that there was none.

“--Ah?”

Maverick flinched as Katakuri reached forward and covered his eyes with a mochi blindfold. For a moment he ceased doing anything, instead pressing on said mochi with a thoughtful frown. Katakuri waited for him to dispute it. Maverick said nothing, instead feeling his way back into position.

“You’ve got too much on your mind,” Maverick spoke, voice smooth and beckoning. “Why not take a moment to enjoy yourself, hm?”

“What were you doing here?” Katakuri stated plainly, gaze fixed on Maverick as his hands moved to fiddle with the skull-decal belt buckle.

“I could ask the same of you. A Sweet Commander, so far away from Totto Land?” Maverick paused to shake his head, a smirk on his face. “Imagine my luck to meet a celebrity out here in this dump.”

Katakuri quirked his eyebrows.

“You’re familiar with me.”

“Not to be too on the nose, but you’re a bit hard to miss,” Maverick said with a chuckle.

Katakuri’s eyes narrowed. Not nearly the first time someone’s gotten interested in him for his title alone. Probably wouldn’t be the last, either. Quite frankly he’d found those partners to be the most boring, and often they would lose their nerve not too long after Katakuri had gotten his pants off. Maverick wasn’t quite there yet.

Hopefully he wouldn’t run. That stroking was starting to get to him.

“Oh-- _Hello_ there.” Just as the belt came undone, Maverick dropped it to put both hands on Katakuri’s chest. He stilled as the small fingers ran over his areolas and stopped on the piercings. “I thought I saw something glittering in the light earlier…”

The pads of his thumbs traced over the barbels, then the rings, before he pulled back and drew an imaginary line between them, as though something was hanging loosely there--

Ah. Jewelry. He was going to suggest jewelry.

“Have you consid--”

“Stay on task,” Katakuri replied.

He kept his voice as disinterested and steady as possible despite the unspoken words _nipple chain_ ringing in his head from the premonition. The idea was as ludicrous as it was interesting, and he was almost tripped up at _how_ interesting it was. Perhaps, with the right aesthetic and the right person...

Yet another moment he was thankful for the scarf to hide his face.

The zipper was pulled and his underwear peeked through it. Rather than cut right to the chase, Maverick’s hands slipped between the leather and cotton to continue groping at what was, unbeknownst to him, little more than mochi shaped to form genitalia. That Maverick didn’t question it told him he’d gotten good enough with replicating one.

Katakuri watched him, maintaining his steady breathing. How curious that Maverick seemed interested in prolonging this. As if he was content to continue seeing how long he could handle fire with his bare hands until he was finally charred from it.

Part of him--hesitant, reluctant, deeply buried by years of carefully maintaining his persona, but still very _there_ \--was thankful for it. Really, how _long_ had it been since someone else touched him like _this_? And how much longer would it be after? He unconsciously spread his legs further apart. His fingertips found the edges of that lacy lingerie. They slipped below the waistband, stretching it to its limits. Maverick’s hips were full rather than bony. He trailed his fingers over the squishy, fatty area, eventually tracing the curve of his ass.

“I see I’m not the only one here to admire the artwork…” Maverick teased.

Katakuri said nothing, partially from confusion at the statement, partially from disinterest.

Maverick put his hands over Katakuri’s. The lacy underwear slid over the meat of his thighs with a quick motion that Katakuri wished he could have savored for but a moment longer. Katakuri’s false dick rivaled Maverick’s _forearm_ in length. Maverick traced it, contemplating the size with another thoughtful frown before he lathered his fingers with the lube resting beside them.

He couldn’t possibly be planning to…

“It’s not going to fit.”

“Will my thighs work?” Maverick said, bemused.

Before Katakuri could say anything, Maverick took to slicking the innermost part of his thighs and crotch with a generous amount of the liquid. It sent a twinge of arousal to the clit hiding underneath the mochi. He was thankful for the blindfold.

“Don’t think I didn’t catch you admiring them.”

Well then.

Katakuri lifted him under the arms and brought his back flesh up against his chest. Maverick inhaled sharply, caught off guard. Ah. There was that worry. Gone a moment later when he realized Katakuri was merely positioning him, yet there nevertheless. Good. He knew where he stood in this situation.

One hand, large as the man’s chest, held him firmly in place while the other squeezed his legs tight. The pressure was suitable, he supposed. Not exactly what he’d want, but there was little to do about that situation.

Don’t lower your guard, he reminded himself. Stay focused.

The first thrust was experimental. Unusual, however not unpleasant. Maverick’s skin was soft and wet enough to make it work. Maverick tensed his muscles tight around him as he continued, fingernails digging into Katakuri’s hips. Somehow, despite six feet of difference, this felt completely natural. Fluid, almost.

He had a vague knee-jerk thought to kiss Maverick. It passed quickly.

Even more so as Maverick began making some kind of noise. At first Katakuri thought it was a whimper of discomfort, however, he quickly realized it was a different reaction entirely.

“...Hee….Heeheehee…”

Oh.

“Ahaha….hee…!”

That was...was he... _giggling_?

Maverick must have noticed him pause in his rhythm because not moments later, he took to biting down on the leather of Katakuri’s glove instead. The nails digging into his sides relented in favor of holding onto Katakuri’s hand.  Not a terrible substitute, but something was definitely lost in the exchange.

He was tempted to ask. He didn’t. This man could keep his secret oddities. At least, for now, while Katakuri was distracted by the dull pain of Maverick’s teeth and the white-hot friction of skin-against-skin.

“Ha…” Maverick’s voice was breathless. “...Ka….Katakuri…”

Katakuri responded with a more forceful thrust. Maverick yelped.

“...Again,” Katakuri said. “Say my name again.”

“Katakuri…” Even though he couldn’t see the man’s face, Katakuri could tell that Maverick was grinning as he said it. “Kata _kuri_ \--Ah!”

His name sounded so... _pleasant_ in that voice, from this strange man in lace who giggled during sex. So filled with want and desire. Maverick panted as Katakuri took to stroking the both of them off. Why did that simple word sound _so_ attractive coming from him?

“Shi--Ah--!”

Maverick suddenly went tense, and Katakuri felt him cum over his fingers. Mere seconds later, he followed suit, spurting out a sticky substitute over Maverick’s chest. For a moment they sat there together, Maverick catching his breath in Katakuri’s lap with his softening dick between his legs, Katakuri’s hands still holding him in place.

Part of Katakuri gave him the _gentle_ reminder that Mama needed him home, that he had obligations. Some other part of him was tempted to keep Maverick close, even though this grungy warehouse was no place for that and even though a stern and serious Sweet Commander had no place curling up together with some low-bounty nobody for the continued attention he was craving.

Logic won out. The blindfold came off. He let go of Maverick, who took the hint, shakily got off of him, and hobbled over to his clothes. There was semen in his bangs, and Katakuri couldn’t quite find the words to point it out. He distracted himself with buckling his pants.

Just before Maverick got dressed, he dug around in his overcoat. Then, he patted Katakuri’s leg and slipped a folded piece of paper into his pocket. Katakuri looked between it and Maverick.

“What is this?”

“The whereabouts of your missing pastry flour shipment,” Maverick replied. “I found it while doing my own digging.”

Katakuri glowered at his back as Maverick pulled on his pants. It was foolish to look a gift horse in the mouth, but even more so to accept it something so blatantly revealing of Maverick’s knowledge. And yet...the man didn’t seem aware that there was more to it than simple flour. One could easily surmise that Big Mom’s many islands of desserts required the occasional shipment of fresh supplies to rebuild decaying structures.

“I’d offer a cigarette instead, but I’m fresh out,” Maverick continued after a moment of quiet between them.

The piece of paper was slipped into his inner jacket pocket. “It’ll do.”

As Maverick fiddled around with the buttons on his shirt, Katakuri watched him with interest, simply taking in the sight of him moving around. He was surprisingly quick...but proceeded to get almost every button wrong, and ended up with a bunched up shirt.

“Bah…” Maverick muttered, struggling to undo the buttons again.

Katakuri had places to be. His pants were zipped up and his composure was back to standard. Nothing looked off. Logically, the next course of action was to leave and find his ship before anyone got curious enough to search for him. Somehow his hands ended up on Maverick’s shirt again, this time to close the buttons he’d undone.

“Oh,” Maverick said, clearly caught off guard. He blinked a couple of times before smiling up at Katakuri. “Thank you.”

“It’s easier if you start at the bottom loop,” Katakuri replied.

“Ah. Solid advice.”

After finishing it, Katakuri stilled. This was weird. This was very, very weird. And Maverick wasn’t saying anything about it, regarding the gesture as if it was commonplace. He picked up his overcoat and pulled it on. Katakuri stared at his back. Wasn’t he at all curious why an infamous murderer stopped to help him?

“I suppose that’s it then?” Maverick called.

Katakuri inclined his head in a slight nod. Without answering properly, he turned away and headed toward the shipping door of the warehouse, which fit him better. His footsteps echoed in the room, the spurs punctuating the sound (Had the room not been dampened to noise while they were engaged with each other?).

As he opened the door, he heard Maverick’s voice behind him.

“I...really enjoyed that,” he said, once again quiet, shy. “Hopefully it wasn’t too awkward for you?”

Katakuri shrugged his shoulders. He considered a proper response, yet never followed up on it. He’d consider it further in the silence of his personal quarters while he pondered the possibilities if he _had_ left some sort of means of communication between them.


	2. Chapter 2

The man was crafty, Katakuri discovered.

After his return to Totoland, he’d gone to do a bit of light research on Maverick. The details were rather difficult to procure beyond a wanted poster from the World Government and a few scattered reports of discrete interactions with underworld brokers. He apparently worked as a runner, moving highly confidential information from one place to the next. 

Suspicious, given that he’d been so keen on buttering Katakuri up and so conveniently had their files on hand...

He posted Maverick’s picture on the wall, alongside dozens upon dozens of others for his mother and siblings to watch out for. Within a few weeks, it was covered up by the mugshots of far more important men.

Regardless of his status as an enemy, Maverick stayed on his mind. Like an itch he couldn’t quite reach. During Tea Parties and family gatherings, plots, and visitations from sisters and brothers-in-law that came in from elsewhere in the world, his thoughts would drift back to that quick excursion in the warehouse. Especially so when the more friendly of his younger sisters would act so playfully with their (willingly married) husbands.

(It itched terribly.)

 

* * *

 

Scouting missions were ultimately a waste of his time. 

A more sociable sibling would have sufficed. No, instead he’d been chosen to recruit a seasoned chef that Mama had sniffed out. Apparently, he could bake an egg tart perfect enough to leave someone in tears. And what Mama wanted she’d get.

The chef in question was a stout man with a round face and short, carefully tamed hair. He frequented the Two Left Fins, a small bar on a remote island known only for its fisheries, with a group of friends he seemed to be quite close with, if their loud laughter and endless recounting of “the old days” was anything to go by. Katakuri watched him like a hawk from afar. He knew the chef had seen him, but the slightly drunken man was determined not to look at him.

Movement caught his attention. The bartender set a Melon Ball on his table.

“...I didn’t order anything,” he said slowly, casting his gaze down to the thin, nervous man who cowered below him.

“He insisted…”

Katakuri furrowed his eyebrows and squinted, before he followed the fearful bartender’s pointed finger to--Oh.

Off to the far right of the chef he’d been so patiently watching was Maverick, obnoxious rose-tinted glasses, cactus bow tie and all. He was leaning up against the bar counter, swirling a translucent pink drink in a tall fancy glass with a sly grin on his face. Katakuri wondered how long he’d been there. It wasn’t like him to miss things in his surroundings.

“Been a while, huh?” Maverick greeted, inviting himself to sit down across from Katakuri. “Two, three months maybe?”

Katakuri glowered at him. “You certainly have a talent for disrupting my business,” he said sternly.

“Ahaha. It’s a coincidence, I assure you.” Maverick shrugged his shoulders. “This island’s a hotbed for people like us, you know.”

No response. Maverick took it in his stride, relaxing in his seat as the bartender timidly scurried away (and who would occasionally peek over at them). The carelessness which he displayed was irritating to say the least, but Katakuri restrained the urge to hurl the other man across as a show of power. Wouldn’t do to scare off the chef.

“...Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to catch anyone I knew out here,” Maverick continued. He gestured at the drink. “Not into sweets?”

“I prefer to drink alone,” Katakuri said flatly.

“Ah.” Maverick nodded. “Why not take it with you?”

He ignored the suggestion.  “What are you here for?” he asked bluntly, folding his arms.

“All business, huh, Katakuri…” Maverick said, shaking his head. “Well, I don’t mind sharing. I’m doing some reconnaissance for a private employer. He’s waiting on some crucial information regarding a kidnapping case. But the weather’s been bad, y’know? So the ship’s delayed...”

Katakuri hummed, pretending to be disinterested in his story as he rambled on and on about typhoons and spooked fishermen. Though all the information was logged. It may contain something of interest, after all, given that the man who stood before him could potentially be a threat.

“--Anyhow, there was something I wanted to give you.” 

Maverick pulled a business card--from the bar itself, Katakuri noticed--out of his pocket, clicked a pen, and began to write something down. Katakuri quirked an eyebrow as it was then slid across the table to him. He lifted it gently and held it up to his eyes. “GREY FUNNEL #15,” was written in neat, blocky handwriting.

“I’m sure you’re a busy guy,” Maverick said. “But I’m gonna be in the area for a few more days, probably. If you’re looking for a decent place to kick up your feet for a bit…gimme a knock.”

With that, Maverick collected his pink drink once more and slipped off into the crowd. Katakuri watched him leave. Now that he was alone, he tension in his shoulders dissipated a bit. He glanced over at the table where the chef and his friends were drunkenly singing an off-key song about fish. They’d likely be a while, it seemed. He knew better than to flee, too. 

He rubbed the tiny card between two fingers.

 

* * *

 

(The drink was suited to his taste. And the room was, in fact, quite the decent place to relax.)

 

* * *

Katakuri did care for his sister. Really he did. But the sound of Brulee’s indignant, “And where have  _ you _ been, hmm?” ringing from the lounge’s mirror in the early hours of the morning--right after he'd returned to their ship--wasn’t something he was particularly in the mood for.

“Seeing through the mission to its completion,” was Katakuri’s response.

“For sixteen hours?” Brulee complained. “Come now, you’re not  _ Cracker _ . You could have convinced that weasel of a man into our custody in minutes!”

He could have, yes. But that would have come at the expense of the chef’s willing decision to join their crew. Though pressured into the position, he wasn’t meant to be a hostage by any means. He’d be housed and paid handsomely.

“He needed time to think,” Katakuri replied. “I granted it. Mama is expecting him in high spirits, not a fearful mess.”

“You were still gone all night with no communication,” Brulee said, crossing her arms. “Did he try to run for it?”

“No,” he said. “I was taking care of something else.”

“Oh?”

He wanted to roll his eyes. The deed was done, was it not? Could they not trust their most loyal crewman with something so simple? Mama had given them near to a week regardless to collect the man’s belongings and allow him to say his farewells. They were in no particular hurry.

“I encountered a man who I’d deemed a possible threat,” he continued. “He’s been neutralized.”

“Ah.” Brulee nodded. “You do look a bit tired. Very well then. Good to see everything’s in order,” she said. “I’ll notify the others of recent developments, shall I?”

With that, she was gone from the mirror. But only when Katakuri was absolutely sure she was gone did he finally let his shoulders go slack and settled into the armchair in the room. There was a twinge of guilt--he didn't like to lie. Not to Brulee. But, he supposed it wasn't _exactly_ a lie. He pulled down his scarf to breathe in some of the cooler air, exposing his fangs. She hadn’t noticed that he’d zipped up his jacket, thank god. He didn’t have a clue in hell how to explain the teeth marks and scratches on his chest.

(Saying they were from a fight would’ve been futile when it was so very clear they were purposeful.)

That nagging itch seemed to be somewhat sated now--though when he’d left Maverick in a messy, passed out state on his motel bed, there’d been an invisible hand on his shoulder that made him pause in the doorway. He’d stood there, just watching him sleep, feeling a small amount of satisfaction in it.

Hard to tell what brought it on. Maybe the ease of stress, the removal of Maverick’s cocky grin. Something.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda lost steam for writing through the entire story, so i'm gonna post what i've got already in bits and pieces

Meeting a few times could be passed off as mere coincidence between two men with chemistry. 

Coming together for the twelfth time, however, wasn’t so easy to ignore.  Especially so given that, on this occasion, Maverick had drifted off to sleep on his chest after sex.

Katakuri was surprised he’d passed out so quickly; not only due to the fact that he was still sticky with sweat and bodily fluids, but that he was resting so easily with such a dangerous, fearsome man. He watched Maverick as he slept. His chest rose and fell, eyes occasionally shifting under his eyelids.

Unlike previous encounters, they’d taken to his personal quarters. There was no danger of being disturbed, no mirrors for Brulee to look in from, not even any homies lingered around. Just him and Maverick. Cuddling on the bed.

Now that was an odd description to pair with the fearsome and intimidating Charlotte Katakuri, wasn’t it. Katakuri didn’t cuddle. At least, to public knowledge he didn’t. Nor did he sleep laying down. Unfortunately Maverick would be able to disprove that theory now. Though, truth be told, he couldn’t find it in himself to care about that rumor at the moment. Not with Maverick so close.

With a bit of hesitance, he reached out to stroke Maverick’s hair. Gently, with only a few fingers. He couldn’t risk waking--

“...Kata?”

Damn it.

Katakuri’s eyes fell on Maverick. It’s such a simple shortening of his name, yet indicative of closeness, comfort, and friendliness. He doesn’t know what to think about it. Not that he has time to process it, as the premonition that immediately followed completely overshadowed it.

_ Can I kiss you? _

“If you feel the need, I’ve no reservations about it.”

Maverick opened his mouth to say it, then pouted at Katakuri. “That future sight of yours…” he muttered, shaking his head with a laugh. He shifted his position to lay on his stomach, eyes peering upward at Katakuri. “Did it also tell you I wanted to kiss you on the mouth?”

Katakuri’s eyes narrowed. Maverick’s grin widened.

“Ahaha, there we go,” Maverick said. “I thought you might have reservations about that one.” He turned back onto his side, cheek on Katakuri’s left pec, casting his gaze toward the far wall. “Nevermind then.”

The ability to take things in his stride was something Katakuri appreciated about Maverick. Though, given that most if not all people around him eventually were stricken by curiosity surrounding the mystery underneath his scarf, it came as a bit of a surprise that he was so ready and willing to move on from it. It puzzled him.

“You’re curious about what’s beneath my scarf?” Katakuri asked.

Maverick opened an eye. “Hm? Oh, I suppose.” He sighed. “That wasn’t really why I asked, though…”

Katakuri stared down at him in a silent question. Maverick let out another airy laugh and turned away.

“...Haha, it’s silly, honestly,” he continued. “I…ha...um...”

Whatever Maverick said next, it was too quiet for Katakuri to catch it. And perhaps it’d been said with that very intention if Maverick’s reddening face was any indication. Katakuri raised his eyebrows. If not a hostile request to intrude upon Katakuri’s personal space, or one to satisfy a piqued curiosity…

Oh.

With the initial alarm of being exposed gone, Katakuri was left with only the thought of how overwhelmingly  _ pleasant _ that kind of affection coming from Maverick would be. He was always so gentle, so very affectionate whenever he kissed any other part of him. To be able to bring him so close--his heart fluttered.

Of course the moment was fleeting, souring as he remembered exactly how  _ disgusting _ he looked.

“...Is it your scars?” Maverick spoke up again. “The ones on your face, I mean. Are they the reason you hide it?”

He stayed silent. Maverick pressed his lips together into a fine line, studied Katakuri’s face, and then set to--removing his shirt. Perplexed, Katakuri merely watched him shirk off his soiled dress shirt and settle down, now completely nude, in his lap. The reason became apparent; Maverick’s arms and shoulders were marred by ugly scars. Mangled, thin, wide, various cuts and scrapes, burns, and deeper wounds.

Suddenly, the fact that he insisted on wearing his shirt each and every time made more sense. Maverick self-consciously rubbed at his arms, a nervous smile on his face.

“...I understand how that feels,” he said. “It...hurts, doesn’t it? When they look at you like you’re wrong for having flaws on your body.”

Katakuri traced a few of Maverick’s uglier scars. The sensible side reminded him that he owed this man nothing in exchange for this revelation. He didn’t ask for it. It was Maverick’s own choice. 

The sentimental part of him, however, had him recalling a time long ago when his younger sister had looked upon him with none of the disdain of his other siblings. Brulee was wise beyond her years, able to look at him with pride despite his torn, twisted face, and even defended him in the face of adversary. Now Katakuri couldn’t help but wonder--if perhaps this man, too, would understand.

The scarf came off with a quick tug over his head. It left him feeling naked, vulnerable.

Maverick’s eyes widened at the sight of his face and Katakuri fought the urge to wince. No, no. Anyone would be shocked upon seeing it without knowing what was there prior to--the explanation to himself became weaker and weaker the longer Maverick stayed silent. His stomach churned. And to think he’d been enjoying his time with--

The thought was interrupted by Maverick’s hands on his cheeks. His mind went blank. 

They’re small in comparison to his own, but still manage to cup his face. Maverick’s thumbs rubbed the enamel of each fang, and as their eyes met, Katakuri realized--it wasn’t fear or disgust in Maverick’s expression. No, he still seemed so warm, friendly, and bright with interest.

“Are they natural?” Maverick said, testing the point of one tooth with the pad of his thumb.

“Yes…” Katakuri’s eyebrows furrowed. “You...you aren’t...bothered?”

Maverick’s response came in the form of a kiss on the lips. Quick, chaste, and soft. A bit silly considering that they’d gone completely out of order in terms of courtship, but it was, after all, new territory for them both. 

Good territory, Katakuri thought as he touched his lips. Exceptionally good.

Before Maverick can pull away, Katakuri leaned in to kiss him again. The size difference (as usual) made it a bit awkward; he’s all teeth, and if he wasn’t careful he’d suffocate the poor man. But the way Maverick’s hands tucked behind his ears, the way his fingers combed through his hair, the clean scent of cucumber clinging to Maverick’s clothes--the way he hummed as their lips moved together--it was so incredibly right.

He swapped their positions, Maverick pressed into the bedspread as Katakuri loomed over him. His tongue slipped across Katakuri’s bottom lip and stopped to feel at his teeth. Katakuri stiffened. How forward...

“Ehehe,” Maverick giggled as Katakuri pulled back. “Embarrassed?”

Now aware of his flushed face, Katakuri cleared his throat.

“...It’s been a long time,” he said.

Maverick stared up at him, eyes half-lidded, smiling giddily from the mass of blankets he’d been buried in. The mood was contagious. Katakuri felt himself grinning in return and as Maverick pulled on his jacket collar, he allowed himself to be pulled back down again.

“Were you really hiding that handsome smile from me all this time?” Maverick whispered in his ear. “That’s not fair...What other things are you keeping quiet about then, huh?”

It briefly crosses his mind that, maybe, he can trust this man with his other secret, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter has some more porn in it, fair warning,

Beginning a conversation with, “I think we should talk,” was never a good sign. Add on the detail of how uncomfortable Maverick looked, and it only made Katakuri grow more and more concerned. Haki gave him no insight into Maverick’s mind either.

He hid his worry in the folds of his scarf, feigning only vague curiosity as he eyed Maverick. Maverick fiddled with his bowtie, hastily looking around outside of the room they were in--some vacant, windowless office--before he shut and locked the door. Then, he took in a breath, and faced Katakuri head on with those striking bicolor eyes.  Maverick settled into a small armchair while Katakuri, with no real furniture made to suit him, settled on a loveseat couch. Which then broke under his weight.

“What is it that you wish to discuss?” Katakuri asked, ignoring the broken couch that had Maverick giggling contagiously.

“I...ah.” 

Maverick’s comfortable demeanor faded back to that nervousness from before. He scratched his head and looked down at his knees. 

“I’m not so sure our arrangement is going to work out.”

It hit him like a gunshot.

He shouldn’t be surprised. They always left. Everyone he’d ever taken even a vague interest in  _ always _ left. Usually they slipped off into the woodwork with their tails between their legs. So there was something to be said of the fact that at the very least Maverick had the guts to face him about it.

Still. It felt like he’d been cut open.

“...You are dissatisfied?” Katakuri replied, maintaining his air of calm.

“With the way things are now? Yeah,” Maverick said. His voice was unsteady. 

Imperfect. The insult echoed in Katakuri’s head as he searched for a reason why Maverick could possibly be unhappy. Something was wrong, something about Katakuri was flawed. Insufficient to keep his partner happy. What was it? His size? The experience itself? Katakuri’s appearance, his personality?

As he wracked his brain for answers, Maverick spoke up again.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like being with you. I’m having fun. It’s just…” He went silent, gripping his knees. “I think things are getting out of hand on my end.”

Wait. 

Katakuri quirked his eyebrows. “How do you mean?”

“Well, I…” Maverick swallowed thickly. “I know you’ve probably been thinking of this as a casual sort of thing...”

As Maverick trailed off and struggled to find the words to describe how he was feeling, a premonition hit Katakuri. His eyes went wide. 

_ I think I’m getting too attached to you _ .

Oh.  _ Oh _ .

Those who had no ties to the Charlotte Family bloodline were not to be trusted. That’s what Mama had taught Katakuri. 

That’s why he’d killed his own father. That’s why he’d helped her kill so many more ex-husbands, suitors, enemies, bystanders. He felt no guilt for it. Protecting his family was far more important than musing on the possibility of strangers being innocent of her claims.

Maverick was a likely candidate for murder, too, both a competitor and someone sneaking around the same territory. How interesting it was, then, that Katakuri had begun to forget that he wasn’t an ally. That he wasn’t already part of their complicated network of suppliers, traders, and businessmen. How interesting it was indeed that he’d told one of his most carefully guarded secrets, one that more than seventy siblings were completely unaware of, to this man.

Now he wanted to tell the  _ other _ secret, too. This had already escalated far beyond a simple fling.

“I think--”

When Katakuri reached out to him, Maverick froze, as if fearful that he’d be struck for his response. But after Katakuri merely brushed over his cheek with the pad of his thumb, Maverick relaxed.

“I believe that’s a fact true of us both,” Katakuri said softly.

Caught by the prediction of Haki once more, Maverick pouted a bit, then let out a disbelieving laugh. He covered part of Katakuri’s much larger hand with his own and squeezed his fingers. There was something so vulnerable about the way he looked. Something different than Maverick’s usual nonchalant, easy-going persona. Katakuri could feel him trembling.

“Thank god,” Maverick whispered. “I was so worried you’d want to break this off when things got too serious...I can’t stop thinking about you.”

His heartbeat skipped. Maverick’s smile was so fond--Katakuri blinked, wholly unsure of whether or not this was a dream. It certainly felt more dreamlike than anything. He stroked Maverick’s hair and drew him in close. This...couldn’t be real, could it? He was a soldier, a seasoned warrior who struck fear into the hearts of enemies and allies alike, destined to serve his family before all else.

Maverick kissed him as if the only part that truly mattered was that he was  _ himself _ .

(He was almost inclined to believe it.)

Perhaps it was a force of habit that lead them into that familiar compromising position, Maverick’s legs slung over his hips, fingertips tugging at his piercings, Katakuri’s teeth dragging over his lips. By now he’s an expert at undoing the buckle and button of Maverick’s pants despite the size difference. By now he knows exactly the pace to stroke him off to that would leave him a mess.

Yet the moment Maverick started inching ever closer to that false mochi dick in his pants, he faltered. Sure, he could feel it somewhat. It was part of him after all. But it wasn’t nearly the same kind of pleasure that got Maverick calling out his name.

Maverick liked him for who he was. He’d not batted an eye when Katakuri lowered his scarf. Would he still be as accepting knowing that there was yet another flaw in his perfection? He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. If they were to continue with this relationship...if this was going to be something far more serious, Maverick would need to know.

“...Kata?” Maverick spoke up after a moment’s pause.

Instead of responding, he guided Maverick’s hand down to his crotch. His partner seemed both confused by the movement and then soon after confused by the lack of expected genitals. Maverick gave the spot a light squeeze, earning a shiver from Katakuri.

“Oh,” he said simply. Maverick tentatively palmed the spot again. Then he looked back up at Katakuri. “You’re not...is it alright that I’m touching this?”

There wasn’t a trace of judgement in his eyes. No, Maverick seemed more curious than anything else. The anxiety of this revelation still bubbled up, however, and Katakuri had to consciously work at maintaining his usual calm, collected facade. Far more difficult to do now with Maverick’s hand cupping his genitals.

“If we’re to be continuing this in a more serious manner,” Katakuri began. “The knowledge would be of importance.” A pause as he struggled to say the next bit, his face flushing, “...I was hoping you would...ah, explore.”

Maverick hummed in response. Katakuri averted his eyes. 

This...the not knowing, this unfamiliar territory--this was decidedly weird. Certainly, he’d been in sexual situations before, but never like  _ this _ . Never with his partner’s face focused on his crotch when there wasn’t a false dick there. He was very strict about who did and didn’t know about that part of himself, after all.

His partners small hands made quick work; belt unbuckled, pants unbuttoned, zipper unzipped. Compared to Maverick’s flashy lace and silk, Katakuri’s undergarments seem boring. Maverick didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

He expected Maverick to straight up fuck him. Not that they’d fit together terribly well, what with the size difference. Instead, he felt a hot exhale on his abdomen. The soft brushing of Maverick’s lips across his stomach. Curious fingertips trailing under the seams of his boxers. Katakuri’s eyes were fixed on him as he moved downward, nuzzling the bend where his right hip met his thigh, Katakuri’s legs resting on his shoulders.

Maverick’s eyes dart up to meet his in a silent question. Katakuri did nothing but stare back at him, eyes wide, too focused on the butterflies in his stomach and how  _ well _ Maverick fit between his legs.

Rather than immediately strip him of his underwear, Maverick kissed at him through it. He squeezed the fleshy part of Katakuri’s inner thigh. The tip of Maverick’s nose traced just above his kisses, perhaps accidentally, nevertheless it was  _ stimulating _ , that was for sure. When Katakuri sighed pleasantly, Maverick chuckled against him.

“Still doing alright, big guy?” Maverick asked.

“You certainly are taking your time.”

“Ahaha.” 

Maverick spread Katakuri’s legs further. He pressed his thumb low on his crotch, then dragged it upward,  _ slowly _ , until he reached the clit. Katakuri’s breath hitched.

“ _ Mavs _ \--”

“You’re the one who invited me to explore, you know,” Maverick continued, rubbing circles on the spot. Katakuri arched into the touch. “And there’s a lot to see down here.”

Katakuri narrowed his eyes at him, earning a smug look in response. But then Maverick sighed, as if he reluctantly accepted the command to move on, and slid his hands under Katakuri’s waistband. The feeling of foreign hands on his hips, then down on his ass, brought with it some vague discomfort. Physical contact was so rare it still made him squirm. Maverick pulled his underwear over his thighs and down to his ankles alongside his pants. Katakuri stiffened as the cold air hit his (now wetted) pubes.

This was the most exposed he’d ever been around someone. 

Here he was, lying at this man’s mercy, stripped down to reveal everything. Every flaw, everything wrong about him. Imperfect.  _ Imperfect _ . His ears were ringing. And Maverick, always quick to sense change in him, immediately halted.

“Should we stop?” he asked worriedly.

He tentatively placed a hand on top of Katakuri’s leg. His forehead was creased, a small frown formed. Not with displeasure or disappointment, but with genuine concern.  Katakuri blinked a few times, trying to pull himself out of the daze. This wasn’t some random suitor presented in a political union. This wasn’t a doctor studying for anomaly, his brothers snidely joking about freakish appearances, his mother chiding him with her nose upturned for being born with abnormality.

This was  _ him _ . 

His heartbeat sped up again, followed quickly by a twinge of arousal as he was already missing the friction of Maverick’s finger pads and craving the skin-to-skin contact.

“...No,” he said. “No, I’m fine.”

Maverick’s eyes remained focused on his. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Katakuri nodded confidently. “Continue.” 

The  _ please _ was left unspoken. Yet, with his voice so filled with enthusiasm, it may as well have been written on his face in bold.

The worry disappeared from Maverick’s face, replaced by a loving smile. He gave Katakuri’s leg a quick reassuring squeeze before settling back into place, head framed on both sides by Katakuri’s thighs.

Katakuri’s eyes went wide as Maverick’s hot, wet tongue replaced his kisses. It lapped at his labia, stroked, twisted, turned, in ways that fingers could never manage. Maverick’s hands dug into the meat of his thighs. Despite Katakuri’s genitalia being longer than his mouth was wide, he made do. He rhythmically rubbed at it in its entirety in long, steady strokes from bottom to top, occasionally stopping to push on the hood of his clit, soft lips bumping the nub underneath.

Katakuri’s toes curled. He bit his cheek. Fuck. He wanted to bury his fingers in Maverick’s hair. However, he also didn’t want to rip it from the man’s skull either. The couch would suffice.

The couch that he was beginning to melt into, slowly, as his form slowly lost its retention and turned to a more fluid mochi. His breath quickened. He clenched his fingers around the couch, petite by comparison, arched his back, and--

_ Crunch _ .

Only half-pulled from the euphoria of orgasm, he glanced to his sides. To his right and back, the shattered pieces that were once the arm of the couch. To his left, a handful of torn fabric, foam, and wood splinters. He blinked. Between his legs, Maverick had popped up, lips and chin slick with fluids.

“...I broke the couch again,” Katakuri muttered.

He dropped the pieces of the couch enclosed in his fist. Maverick snorted, wiped his chin with the back of his hand, then burst out laughing.

“Ahahahaha! This is why I love being with you,” Maverick said. “Between the two of us, there’s never a dull moment.”

As Maverick leaned up against Katakuri’s leg, laughing uncontrollably, Katakuri stared down at him, an amused smile creeping onto his face as he chuckled under his breath. Yes, without a doubt, this relationship was worth committing to.


End file.
